A Doc By Any Other Name by Traci Thompson
by yoplait2000
Summary: Sequel to "Two". The Doctor finally gets a name.


A Doc By Any Other Name

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager belongs to Paramount, not me, etc.

Summary: The Doctor finally gets a name. Follows "Two."

Thank you to Susan for beta reading. Spikies and Angela, please archive it, if you want.

* * * * *

The first thing B'Elanna noticed was the rose, understandably.

It was very eye-catching, looking so out of place in Engineering. But there it was, in a delicate vase with a little tag attached, perched on top of the console at which Seven was diligently working.

B'Elanna suppressed a smile. Aw, how cute. The Doc was apparently trying to be romantic. She wondered if Seven had seen him in his holographic shorts lately, and then had to suppress a laugh.

"Hi, Seven."

"Lieutenant." As usual, Seven did not take her eyes off what she was doing.

B'Elanna began to work at a nearby console, but glanced sidelong at Seven and commented, "That's a nice flower. From the Doctor, I assume?"

"Species _rosa rubifolia_. And yes, it is a gift from the Doctor."

B'Elanna nodded and turned her attention back to her console. But surprisingly, Seven spoke again, and turned her cool gaze to B'Elanna.

"He is fond of giving me plant life."

"Well, Seven, it is an Earth custom for men to give flowers to women."

"Yes, during my observations of mating behavior, I noted that Lieutenant Paris presented you with a floral arrangement following an argument."

B'Elanna gritted her teeth subtlely. She was glad Seven had a relationship of her own now; maybe she wouldn't feel a need to play Peeping Borg anymore.

"Men often give women flowers after an argument as a way to apologize, but sometimes they also give flowers just..." B'Elanna shrugged. "...to express their affection." She had been about to say _to show their love_ but was sure it would make her think of the Doc in his boxers again. There was only so much of that she could handle first thing in the morning!

Seven gave her a curt nod, and turned back to her console, as did B'Elanna. After a moment, without looking up, Seven said flatly, "There is a note, if you wish to read it."

B'Elanna glanced up. Wasn't Seven the talkative one today! And why would she ask her to read something that was personal? Especially since she looked a little uncomfortable about it. B'Elanna was going to tell her it was none of her business, although, like everyone else, she had participated in the riotous gossip about the Doc and Seven. After all, who could resist? The rumors had now died down to a few bets on how long it would last, mostly due to Seven; she had soundly ignored all the whispers, looks, and laughs, and had masterfully carried on as if nothing were different. Poor Doc tried to follow her lead, but occasionally failed and B'Elanna had witnessed more than one incident that ended with him shouting in indignation at various crewmen.

B'Elanna swallowed her intended words when she realized that Seven might be trying to be friendly and share something with her. Maybe this was her Borgish way of saying, look, I got flowers too, I have a romantic relationship, we have something in common. Besides, she _was_ curious.

"Okay, sure," she said, and moved to peer at the little card.

It said:

_Oh my luve is like a red, red rose_

_That's newly sprung in June_

_O my luve is like the melodie_

_That's sweetly played in tune._

_As fair thou art, my bonie lass_

_So deep in luve am I_

_And I will luve thee still, my dear_

_Till a' the seas gang dry._

B'Elanna repressed the urge to hurl. She smiled instead. "I see the Doc is waxing poetic," she said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

"The iambic tetrameter is orderly, but it violates rules of standard English spelling."

"It's supposed to be written in an Earth dialect. Scottish, I think."

Seven looked at her again. "I do not see the point."

"Well, to let you know that the speaker is Scottish, I guess."

"Why is this detail important? Explain."

"I don't know that it's necessarily important, Seven. It's just..." B'Elanna momentarily searched for a reason, but quickly became frustrated. "Oh, I don't know. Ask the Doctor." She tempered her voice a little. "Look, I think he's just saying he loves you, and that's the important part. Okay?"

Seven replied with another nod. She turned back to her console, and B'Elanna could sense the efficiency with which her attention was fully diverted back to her work. Conversation time was apparently over.

Flowers continued to pop up every day in Astrometrics, Engineering, or whatever place Seven was assigned duties. They began to annoy B'Elanna, who found herself thinking of how Tom only gave her flowers after arguments, not "just because." She normally wasn't a mushy kind of woman, but still... maybe the Doc was more talented in that area than she would have given him credit for?

B'Elanna flashed back to the Doc's egotistical daydreams and his screaming to deactivate himself as he appeared in his skivvies. _Nah!_ Couldn't be. But she still hoped Seven appreciated all the attention she was getting. A vain hope, possibly, since Seven from day to day seemed to take no more notice of the little affections than she would a piece of dust on her console screen.

But what no one saw was the moment that sometimes occurred when Seven worked alone, in which her eyes would be drawn inexorably towards the rose. She would think, _This is irrelevant and is interfering with my work._ But her gaze lingered, and even a finger, un-Borglike, would reach out to touch the softness of a petal.

* * * * *

The Doctor now found his free time crammed with projects. Besides his usual hobbies, and professional pursuits such as writing lengthy medical papers, he now was planning more social lessons for Seven and writing holodeck programs for them to share. Tom was exposed to much of this during his Sickbay shifts, when the Doc often asked Tom for help.

"You want us to do _what_?"

The Doctor looked impatient at having to repeat himself. "It's my next social lesson for Seven, and I need you and B'Elanna to assist. We're going to play 'Spin the Bottle.'"

"Where'd you get _that_ idea?"

"I've been doing some research on Earth coming-of-age rituals. It seems to be quite an enduring fixture in teenage culture."

Tom chuckled. "Uh, Doc, I _really_ don't think B'Elanna will go for it. Trust me on this one, okay?"

The Doctor sighed melodramatically and muttered, "Naturally she wouldn't, since I've already replicated the bottle and everything."

"Why'd you want to do that anyway, Doc? I mean, Seven's a grown woman."

"You're missing the overall picture, Mr. Paris. Seven's childhood was taken from her, but so was her adolescence. I am trying to recreate experiences she might have had if she had gone through normal, experimental teenage years. Therefore, I am taking her on dates, sending her flowers..."

"And sappy poetry?" Tom couldn't resist asking.

The Doctor gave him a long-suffering look.

"Sorry," Tom grinned, "but B'Elanna told me you were in _luve_."

"I see your wife's literary tastes still have not evolved beyond Klingon drinking songs."

Tom decided to ignore that. "Hey, Doc, for what it's worth, I wanted to tell you that I really am happy for you. I know you've had feelings for Seven for a long time."

The Doctor smiled wistfully and his tone softened. "I can't begin to describe it, or how she makes me feel. It's...it's more than I ever imagined I could have."

Tom smiled too. "That's terrific. I think you two are great together...weird, but great."

"Thank you Mr. Paris...I think."

"And I wouldn't worry too much about her missing years. She seems to have jumped into adulthood pretty gracefully."

"Yes, I suppose. But I worry about her...I still feel the need to go slowly with her in developing a relationship," the Doctor said earnestly. "It's so new for her."

"I think that's a great idea, Doc. And I understand. It took me a long time to win B'Elanna over, and convince her that it was a good idea to be in _luve_ with me."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "It's a northern Scots dialect, for heaven's sake! Penned by Robert Burns," he added. He looked into the distance and smiled with artistic appreciation. "Ah, now _there_ was a great name from a romantic time."

"Speaking of names, Doc, I was thinking...maybe now that you're seeing each other, Seven could help you find a name. I know you gave up for awhile there, but wouldn't it be kinda strange for her to call you _Doctor_ all the time if you're relating to each other... non-professionally?"

The Doctor's attention was brought back to Tom. "I hadn't thought about that. But yes, it would be strange, and yes, she could help me decide on one! Thank you, Tom. That's a marvelous idea. To find a name at last would be wonderful!" His eyes gleamed with anticipation, but only for a moment. He handed Tom a PADD. "But don't think that in all this chit-chat I've forgotten your assignments for today. There's quite a bit of filing to be done. Not to mention the crewmen on their way for check-ups."

"Aw, Doc." Well, it had been worth a try.

* * * * *

Sitting at his desk later that evening, the Doctor again picked up his old habit of trying to puzzle out a name for himself. His memory subroutines drifted back to the ones he had considered in the past.

There had always been the appeal of Zimmerman as a last name, since his creator- "father" was Lewis Zimmerman. It certainly seemed apropos. But what first name would go with it? He didn't want to be Lewis Zimmerman Junior. He was an individual, after all.

Then there were the names of famous people. He had tried them on like someone else's shoes, and they didn't fit. Names such as Albert Schweitzer_. _Not only did that one bring back sweet and painful memories of his first kiss, but it also seemed so inappropriate now. _What was I thinking?_ he wondered. _My programming must have adapted in a different direction since then. _

And the simple names: Bob, Joe. Maybe Mark. He was a Mark I, after all.

Thinking of names and how he had changed over the years inevitably brought Kes to mind. The Doctor smiled wistfully as he remembered how kind she had been to him, how she had encouraged him to find a name and become more than his original programming. He was what he was because of her. At one time, he had thought himself to be half in love with her.

And then another name, one he had almost forgotten, came gently back. _Schmullis. _The name Denara Pel had suggested for him. The name was like Denara; most would just look at the surface and see unattractiveness, but the Doctor had seen the beauty in both. He felt a pang of sadness. He had truly loved her, though it was doomed from the beginning.

And now there was Seven. He had thought her unattainable, that wanting a deeper relationship with her was a foolish hope as unreal as himself. But through some miracle like converging stars, she was turning his hope into reality and filling him with a happiness he hadn't known in all his existence. He realized that, although the others had and always would mean a great deal to him, what he had felt for them then now seemed like so much less by comparison. He saw that they had touched his life with lessons. They had been practice for his future; they had prepared him for Seven. Kes was his mentor, and had challenged him to growand be an individual, so he could do the same for Seven. Denara had taught him about romantic relationships and love, enabling him to love Seven.

These connections filled the Doctor with a kind of awe. They led to another thought: perhaps all his unsuccessful attempts to find a suitable name were just leading up to the point when Seven, the love of his life, would choose the perfect one. It was certain she settled for no less than perfection in most matters!

The Doctor crossed his arms and smiled as he leaned back in his chair, pleased at having reached this most satisfying conclusion. After a moment he leaned forward again and began creating a list of all the names that had possibility_. _Seven could choose from these, or come up with something completely new and unique, as he had no doubt she could.

* * * * *

Naomi Wildman half-skipped, half-ran across Cargo Bay 2.

She stopped, slightly out of breath, when she reached Seven, who as usual was absorbed in a console screen.

"Hi, Seven."

"Naomi Wildman."

"That's a pretty rose," Naomi commented, noticing the bud that was busy adding color to the otherwise gray Cargo Bay. "May I smell it?"

"Yes."

Naomi stood as far as tiptoes would allow to get her nose close to the flower. "Mmm, it smells good." She peered over Seven's arm. "What are you doing? That doesn't look anything like astrometrics."

"It is not. I am increasing my knowledge of Earth's literature."

"Why?"

Seven took a deep breath. "I...simply wish to."

Naomi looked up at Seven a moment before asking, "Is it true that you saw the Doctor in his underwear?"

Seven took another deep breath. "Yes."

Naomi put her hand over her mouth and giggled. "That's funny!" She bit her lip and tried not to giggle too much. "I heard you are his girlfriend. Is that true too?"

Seven looked up and straight ahead before looking back down at the console. "I suppose that is one way to describe it," she said dryly.

"But he's a hologram."

"It is hard to explain."

Naomi grinned and sang, "Seven and the Doctor sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!"

Seven glanced sidelong at Naomi. "I assure you, I have no intention of engaging in romantic behavior while perched in arboraceous greenery." Seven finally turned her full attention to the girl. "Naomi Wildman, are you not supposed to be in class in exactly five minutes?"

"Yes, and I know, I should be on time." She took a few steps to leave, then turned back and smiling, assured Seven, "I won't tease you anymore, I promise. But I don't think I can see the Doctor again without thinking about his underwear!" She giggled again and ran out of the Cargo Bay, leaving Seven looking after her with one corner of her mouth slightly upturned.

* * * * *

The days between the typical crises were falling into a comfortable routine for the hologram and ex-Borg. Very routine, thanks to Seven. Needing her life compartmentalized, Seven carefully scheduled time to be with the Doctor. Not a minute more or less. She deleted _Recreation_ and instead added _Romantic Pursuits_ to _Work, Eat_, and _Regenerate_ on her daily calendar.

The Doctor tried not to complain too much about the lack of spontaneity, preferring to spend some time with her as opposed to none at all. They usually went to the holodeck; Seven had written some programs too, and to be fair they took turns trying out each other's simulated worlds. When out on a "date," the Doctor always tried to dress casually, and Seven always appeared with her hair in a different style than her everyday twist. This was quickly established to help create a distinction between their professional relationship and their personal one, a distinction that Seven highly approved of, since it fit neatly into her categories.

Which is why the Doctor was wearing a light shirt and a tweed cap as he made his way to the holodeck a few days later. Seven had created their last holodeck escapade, which had been analyzing the composition and mass of an asteroid in the gamma quadrant; despite the astrometrical knowledge that had been added to his program, the Doctor was grateful that it was his turn again. He strode briskly down the corridor, a spring in his step and a song in his heart, until he heard a voice behind him.

"Hey, Doc! What color undies ya got on today?"

He turned, angry and with fists clenched, only to see two laughing ensigns duck out of sight around the curve in the hallway.

"I'll remember that next time you need a painful medical procedure!" he yelled after them.

"Doctor, is there a problem?"

He whirled around to see Captain Janeway standing behind him.

"Oh, Captain! Ah, no. No problem. Just a few juvenile crewmen getting their kicks off abusing the hologram. Why should today be different?" He muttered the last under his breath, but then brightened. "However, I know they are just jealous that I am seeing the most gorgeous woman on Voyager," he said, bursting with pride.

Mirth flickered on Janeway's face. "You certainly look dressed for an outing."

"Yes, I was on my way to the holodeck, and thought the occasion called for a rather _jaunty_ look." He tipped the brim of his hat just a little to the Captain, and continued, "I have a lunch date with Seven," he said proudly. "Incidentally, we're going to your home state, Indiana."

"Really? Why?"

"Seven once said it looked like a 'pleasant environment,' so I created a holoprogram of it for us to enjoy. I've been trying to take her to places on Earth, so she - and I - will feel more at home when we get there. My latest project is a simulation of various Scandinavian countries, to help her better understand and appreciate her ethnic heritage."

"Well, that sounds like a very good idea, Doctor. I hope you have a good time." She took another sip from the coffee mug she was holding, which the Doctor now noticed for the first time.

"Captain..." he said in a disapproving voice, and clucked his tongue at her.

She held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it," she said firmly. "I'm still making up for the nebula."

"But Captain..."

"Ooo, look at the time, Doctor," Janeway said in mock surprise. "You'd better hurry or you'll be late. You know Seven likes promptness."

He sighed. "Aye, Captain," he said with a bit of sarcasm.

He turned and continued towards the holodeck, while Janeway chuckled and took another sip as she watched him go.

* * * * *

"What is that...creature?" Seven asked, her nose wrinkling slightly.

"A horse, Seven. Once an important beast of burden on Earth, but now mainly used for recreation. I thought it might be more fun to ride than walk around the fields," he said, patting the horse's nose.

"A solid-hoofed plant-eating quadruped. _Equus caballus_," Seven stated. She looked at it suspiciously, her eyes squinty in the bright Indiana summer sunshine.

"Exactly, my dear. Now if you'll please step this way, I'll give you a leg up."

"A leg up."

"I'll help you get on its back."

Seven surveyed the scene, assessed the situation, and formed a logical plan. "No thank you. I do not believe I will require assistance." She strode to the horse and, putting a booted foot into the stirrup, gracefully swung her long leg over the saddle and settled into a perfect riding posture.

The Doctor smiled. "I think you're right," he commented, and hoisted himself into the saddle behind her. He had originally created a horse for each of them, but thinking the better of it he had deleted one. Now he was happy about that decision; it was _much_ cozier this way. He held the reins in one hand and put the other arm around Seven, and rested his cheek lightly against hers. The metal of her optical implant was cool on his face.

He clucked to the horse to get it moving. It whinnied and began to plod along at an even pace. The Doctor pointed out the various crops they were passing: "Over here is corn, or maize as the natives called it. In the next field over, the 'amber waves of grain,' to quote a song, is wheat..." Seven helpfully supplied Latin names at intervals. Appropriate intervals, she hoped, as she tried to remember the rules of conversation.

Their destination was a lone tree in a grassy area, standing on the horizon in stark contrast to the blue sky. The Doctor had programmed it to be a shady area for their picnic. The tree's leaves filtered the sunlight, and it shone dappled on the Doctor as he spread a blanket under the tree after their arrival.

The Doctor took lunch out of the horse's saddlebag: replicated items for Seven, strictly holographic ones for him. As he did so, he glanced at Seven, who was standing in front of the horse and still eyeing it. He was a little surprised when she tentatively reach a hand up and awkwardly patted its nose. The horse _whooshed_ gently on her hand. She didn't draw away. The Doctor smiled to himself.

They seated themselves on the blanket, and did not speak for awhile, munching their respective meals. Seven was teaching the Doctor to recognize comfortable silences; _Lesson number thirty-nine: Freedom from Irrelevant Conversations_..._or to continue my song theme, The Sound of Silence_, he thought, his mind wandering contentedly as he enjoyed watching her eat. Then, suddenly feeling spontaneous, he inched closer to her, took a replicated grape, and held it to her mouth.

She balked. "Doctor, I am capable of ingesting my own nutritional supplements."

"I know you are. But, intimate couples often feed each other as a kind of...of _bonding_ ritual. As a sort of symbol of nurturing."

She looked at his affectionate face and then at the grape still hovering in front of her. She sighed. "Very well."

He hadn't anticipated she would take the grape with her lips in quite the unconsciously sensual way that she did. Her tongue brushed lightly on his fingertips and his eyes widened as a tingle ran through his matrix. He turned away, inexplicably embarrassed.

She found his response somewhat intriguing. For a moment, he had looked at her _that_ way. "You may feed me again," she stated, wishing to investigate further.

"Um, actually Seven, there was a matter I wanted to discuss with you," he said, feeling a very desperate need to change the subject. He took a PADD out of his pocket. "You know that for a long time now, I've been trying to find just the right name for myself. I hadn't given much thought to it lately, and in fact had almost given up, but today Tom suggested that maybe you could help me. That maybe you had some ideas for what you'd like to call me, now that we're...on more..._intimate_ terms."

Smiling, he handed her the PADD as if bestowing a great honor. "Here's a list of the names I've considered. I haven't been able to decide which is best, which sums up all that I am. I'd like to know what you think. Oh, and feel free to add any suggestions you may have."

Seven looked at the PADD. "Schmullis."

"Uh, it's a long story," he said, hoping she'd move on to the next one.

"Bob. Joe. Mark." She glanced up at him. "Mozart?"

"Well, music _is_ my predominant hobby."

Seven rolled her eyes.

"Frank...Harry...John...Winston?"

"Churchill. Very interesting historical personality."

"Socrates?"

"Ditto."

Her eyes rolled again.

"Gene?"

He shrugged. "It just had a certain ring to it...not sure why."

She sighed, her lips pressing tightly together. She handed the PADD back to him. "I am sorry, Doctor, but I cannot assist you," she said icily.

He looked at her and the list of names in dismay. "Why not?" he demanded, his brow furrowing.

"Because none of those names are suitable for you."

"Alright, fine. But can't you help me think of..."

"And your designation is not important to me," she interrupted.

"Well, it's important to me! You _know_ how important it is to me." He shot her a hurt look and tossed the PADD onto the blanket, away from him. "I guess I'll just have to try finding one on my own again," he muttered. _If I found one, would she even use it?_ he wondered glumly. He couldn't help but think that Kes wouldn't have reacted this way, if he were having this conversation with her...and then immediately felt terrible, because he loved Seven and wanted no one else but her, coldness and all.

Seven saw the disappointment etched on his face. She looked down and her eyes darted as she searched for words. She couldn't help but think that relationships in Unimatrix Zero were less complicated. But she felt a small twinge of guilt and deleted the thought, concentrating on the far less virtual being beside her.

Finally, she attempted to explain. "'What's in a name?'" she quoted. "'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'"

He looked at her curiously but silently, so she continued.

"You will still be you regardless of what you are called. This is why your designation is not important to me. However, if having a name is important to you, I would suggest keeping the one with which I and the crew are already familiar."

The Doctor's brow furrowed again. He blinked in the sunlight, noticing that he had inadvertantly programmed the sky to match the blue eyes regarding him. "What are you talking about? I don't already have a name."

A breeze ruffled Seven's hair as she spoke. "Doctor," she said simply.

He huffed. It was his turn to roll his eyes. "'Doctor' is a _title_, Seven, a _profession_. Not a _name_," he said impatiently.

"Some Earth cultures have used 'Doctor' as a proper name as well as a title," Seven countered. "By your logic, 'Seven' is part of a Borg designation and cannot be used as a proper name. Do I need a new name as well?" She was beginning to look just a little amused.

The Doctor shook his head, unconvinced. "That's different. 'Seven' isn't your whole Borg designation, and it's...it's..." He waved his hands around for emphasis. "...more like a nickname. Plus we've never known you as anything but 'Seven.'"

She looked even more amused. "We do not call you 'The Emergency Medical Hologram,' therefore 'Doctor' must be more like a nickname. Plus we've never known you as anything but Doctor."

The Doctor did _not_ look amused.

Seven took a deep breath and tried again. "Doctor: a qualified pracitioner of medicine; a _healer_. In archaic usage, a teacher or a learned man. From the Middle English version of the Old French _doctour_, from the Latin _doctor_ from _docere_, or _teach_." She paused; then moved slightly closer to him, as another breeze sent tree leaves spiraling down around her. With the difficulty of loosening an old habit to pick up a new one, her augmented hand moved, hesitated, then slowly reached up to his face and touched him gently. "I can think of no other name more appropriate for you," she said in a low voice.

The metal on her hand was cool, but it sent a warmth-like love through him, and immediately his expression softened. _Healer, teacher_. His two most important functions. It was hard for him to give up his long quest, but perhaps she was right...perhaps he had been, as usual, searching in vain for what was there all along. Perhaps she was, after all, teaching him more than he had taught her.

Her hand dropped, and he missed the feel of it instantly. He held perfectly still for a moment, and tried to remember - had _anyone_ ever touched his face that way before?

The Doctor brought his thoughts back to his name. He remembered another time he had sought something else rather than accept what was already his. The Captain had helped him see the situation clearly that time.

Seven patiently waited for him to respond, with sunshine glinting on her hair and leaves still fluttering around her. He took a second to enjoy this picture before him, then related the tale.

"Once, Seven, I wanted to celebrate a holiday, a holiday of my _own_. Everyone else has cultural or religious ties to some sort of special day of significance. I wanted that experience too. So I tried different holidays celebrated by different cultures and species, but found none were to my liking; I couldn't relate to them, none _fit_ me exactly. I expressed my frustration to Captain Janeway, and she helped me understand that, as a doctor, I am part of a community or _culture_ of physicians, and as a healer, my belief system is that I hold life sacred. She said that as long as I am practicing medicine, _every_ day is a holiday that I am celebrating."

"Her logic is commendable," Seven approved.

"I thought so too," the Doctor agreed. "But what I'm getting at is, I realized I'd been searching for significance elsewhere, when I'd really had it the whole time. Is this basically what you're saying about my name?"

"Your logic also is commendable," Seven said, with just a bit of an affectionate smirk. "Yes. You have been attempting to assimilate the names of others, when they do not relate to you nor your 'culture.' _Doctor_, however, does," she finished, more seriously.

He nodded with satisfaction, feeling the rightness of it. "Well, then. 'I take thee at thy word,'" he quoted back to her. He began to smile broadly. A part of his long exploration for identity had ended; he had discovered his name!

"If you also must have a surname, I would recommend Zimmerman, as Lewis Zimmerman is the closest you have to a paternal figure."

"Yes, I always thought I would use his last name." A wonderful thought popped into his holographic mind, and before he could stop himself, he asked, "Would you ever consider using it as well?"

He immediately looked self-conscious, but she merely smiled a small, secret smile and looked away into the distance, towards the horse who had drifted away while munching holographic grass. "I no longer have any particular interest in the name Hansen," was her reply.

The Doctor felt bouyant. She had not reacted negatively to the suggestion! And that was certainly enough for now. He noticed that they both had to return to duty soon. The Doctor rose to his feet and offered Seven a hand. She began to say _I do not require assistance_, but realized that whether she required it or not was irrelevant, and allowed him to help her up.

She was standing facing him. The Doctor kept hold of her hand, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on her cheek.

"Will you take a last ride with me?" he asked.

She missed the kiss already, but did not say so. She tilted her head in a nod of approval.

He didn't make a move to go yet, but instead commented, "I didn't know you had an interest in Shakespeare."

"I have been studying Earth literature. You have given me poetry...I wish to understand it."

He smiled to himself. She was studying poetry because of _him_! "Poetry can be analyzed, Seven, but it is primarily understood with the heart and not the head." He looked at her lovingly. "I think you understand it more than you know."

She filed that thought away, to contemplate another time.

"Doctor Zimmerman. Please accompany me to retrieve the horse."

No name had ever sounded so comfortable, so _perfect._ Especially when she was the one saying it.

"Miss Seven of Nine, there's nothing I'd rather do."

THE END.


End file.
